


on bended knee

by aghamora



Series: Flaurel Ficlets [20]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The hard part isn’t realizing that he wants to marry her. The hard part is actually figuring out how to <i>ask</i> her."</p><p>Or, Frank proposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on bended knee

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Frank asking Laurel to marry him.

The hard part isn’t realizing that he wants to marry her.

No – that’s the easiest part, actually. It happens late one night as they lay naked and tangled in his sheets, her body curled up against him and her head on his chest. Laurel’s breathing is slow and steady, her features the perfect picture of serenity. He could watch her for hours, just like that.

And it hits him right then, out of nowhere, that he can’t picture himself being without her. Ever.

That’s when he knows he wants to marry her, and the thought doesn’t even scare him, honestly. He loves her. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her, only her, and every day, if he can wake up next to her, he knows he’ll be happy. No – not just happy. Like…  _really_  damn happy.

The hard part isn’t realizing that he wants to marry her. The hard part is actually figuring out how to  _ask_  her.

Step one, he figures, is to actually buy the ring – which is accomplished relatively easily. He goes to an upscale jewelry store downtown with sweaty palms, as nervous as a schoolboy. One of the salespeople behind the desk walks him through it, and luckily he’d had the good sense to find out her size beforehand.

He chooses a one-carat diamond. Princess cut, set in a 14K white gold band. It’s too big to look chintzy but too small to look gaudy. He could afford something bigger; hell, Laurel probably already  _owns_  rings much bigger – but he knows she won’t want anything showy.

She may be a rich girl, but she’ll want something simple. That much he knows.

Step two, according to his sources (the internet), is to pick the perfect spot. But they haven’t had any huge relationship milestones at any specific locations, and the place they first met – the office – has nothing romantic about it.

Eventually Frank settles on his apartment – that seems like as good a place as any. Private. Quiet. He’ll cook her dinner and open a bottle of nice wine, and… Well, he hasn’t gotten any further than that yet, but he’s working on it.  

Step three? He’s pretty sure step three is write a long, mushy, romantic speech about how much he loves her, and will always love her, and wants to have kids and get old with her and yada yada yada. Only problem? He’s really bad with words. He’s always blunt and straightforward almost to the point of rudeness – no flowery speech or poetry. There’s nothing remotely poetic about him.

He could try to speak some Spanish to her, but he’d probably screw that up. And yeah, maybe he could just draft a speech beforehand, but that would sound fake – and he doesn’t want this to be  _fake_. He loves her. He just…  _loves_  her.

And Frank doesn’t know how to make that sound _pretty_  or  _romantic_  or  _aww-worthy_  or anything, but it’s a damn fact. He’ll figure out how to get it across somehow.

Dinner. Wine. Pleasant conversation. He’s got all that figured out. Now he needs something to make it unexpected, so she won’t see it coming.

So, like the asshole he kind of is, he picks a fight.

She gets home from work around seven, exhausted and complaining about one of the other associates at her firm, who “is just an asshole, Frank; he’s the biggest asshole ever and there’s no humanly possible reason anyone needs to  _be_  such an asshole.” Frank had taken the day off to prepare, and he’s ready the instant she steps in the door: bottle of wine in hand, dishrag slung over his shoulder, and dinner on the table.

Laurel stops in her tracks, a tentative smile playing at her lips. “What’s all this for?”

“You,” he answers simply. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“Frank! That’s so sweet.” She kicks off her heels and walks over, pecking him on the lips. “Didn’t you have to work today?”

“Got off early,” he lies. “Now c’mon. Dinner’ll get cold.”

He pulls out her chair for her, and they sit down to eat what Frank calls his “tour of Italy”: salad, penne all'arrabbiata, flatbread, and an expensive bottle of Chianti. He plays it cool for the most part as they make idle chatter, when inside he’s really freaking the fuck out. The ring feels like a thousand-pound weight in the pocket of his jeans.

He doesn’t want to screw this up. He  _cannot_ screw this up. This is probably the most important thing he’s ever done and – well, what if he does screw it up? Or worse – if she says no?

He puts the thought out of his mind. He can’t think about that.

An hour passes. Laurel is on her second glass of wine, and Frank has just started trying to figure out how to instigate an argument about getting married when, as if by an act of God, she brings up the recent engagement of one of her co-workers.

“She seemed really happy,” she tells him, with a wistful little grin. “He hired a whole flash mob choir to sing ‘Marry You’ to her, with choreography and everything. It sounded so… romantic. And her ring? It was  _huge_.”

Immediately, Frank pounces.

“Well, that’s not what you want, is it?” he asks, in an offhand manner.

Laurel blinks. “What do you mean? The… flash mob thing?”

“No,” he clarifies. “To get married.”

He can tell she tries to hide it, but her face falls – and it kills him to hurt her like that, it really does, but he’s committed to this course of action now, and he’s not backing down. With a frown, she sets down her fork and takes a sip of her wine, as if needing a moment to think of what to say.

“I, um,” she finally pipes up. “I-I don’t know. What, do you not, or something?”

He shrugs, nonchalant, and stands to clear the table. “Dunno. Just didn’t think we were that serious, y’know?”

“No, I don’t  _know_ ,” she raises her voice slightly, springing to her feet as well and turning to face him. “How can you… I – how can we not be serious? We’ve been living together for almost six months.”

Frank smirks. “Is that what you want from me? The whole white picket fence thing?”

Laurel furrows her brow, the shock in her eyes quickly giving way to anger. Her nostrils flare, and that’s when he  _really_  knows he’s got her going, and so Frank braces himself for the oncoming storm.

And it does come. Quickly.

“So what’re you saying? That this is going nowhere? That our relationship isn’t a  _big deal_  to you?”

“Look, babe, all I’m saying is that I didn’t know you wanted that out of this. I’m not the kinda guy who looks at stuff long-term.”

Laurel clenches her jaw. “We’re living together. We’ve been dating for almost three years! Is that not long-term to you?”

He turns to face her, abandoning the dishes in the sink and stalking out into the living room – because he’s not going to drop down on one knee in the kitchen, for God’s sake. She follows, arms folded and cheeks flushed with anger; a tiny, petite, really adorable ball of rage. He’s having a hard time not caving and pulling out the ring now, honestly. Even when she’s fuming mad at him he’s still head over heels for her.

“How many times have you told me you don’t want to be that cliché girl from Brown who gets married and quits her job and has kids?”

“ _What_?” she exclaims, gesticulating about wildly. “That has  _nothing_  to do with this! A-and yes, I want a career first – but that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to get married someday! What, did you think I would never want to take that step? That I’d be fine with just… just this for the rest of my life?”

Frank doesn’t answer. He just shrugs again like a jackass, and Laurel actually growls in frustration.

“You know what? Nevermind! I was so stupid to think you’d ever step up and actually put a ring on it!”

“Really?” he asks, his hand hovering closer and closer to his pocket. “So you don’t think I’d ever marry you?”

“ _No_  I don’t think you’d ever marry me, because you’re scared of commitment, Frank!” she hisses, turning away from him and starting to pace. “I guess I should’ve known you aren’t the marrying type. And I should’ve known better than to waste half my twenties on a relationship-”

“Laurel-”

“-that’s going nowhere, and  _God_ , you know what? I never should’ve moved in either, or deluded myself into thinking-”

“Laurel,” he says, louder, more firmly.

“ _What_?” she spits, finally spinning around to look at him.

The instant she does, Laurel freezes.

He’s down on one knee, arm outstretched with a small leather ring box in his hand, opened to reveal the gleaming diamond inside. His eyes are dancing with amusement, appraising her in silence. As she takes in the sight of him, Laurel’s mouth drops open, and she promptly clasps her hands over it in shock.

And yeah, his plan had worked like a charm. She hadn’t been expecting  _that_.

“Oh my God,” she chokes out, her eyes glazing over with tears. “Oh my God, Frank.”

He grins. “Still don’t think I’d ever marry you?”

Laurel’s mouth moves without articulating words for a minute. If he weren’t trying to be all romantic, he’d totally laugh at how she looks right now – but he doesn’t. He just keeps kneeling, keeps looking into her eyes and awaiting an answer.

“Is this – are you – please d-don’t tell me this is a joke-”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“You… you’re-”

“Look,” he cuts her off gently. “Just… hear me out for a sec, okay?”

Here it goes: the speech. He’s winging it, but he’s winging it from the heart, and that’s got to count for something, right?

“I spent a really long time trying to figure out how to do this,” he begins, slowly. “You know I’m no good at words. But… I love you, Laurel. A whole hell of a lot, and I  _do_  wanna do all that white picket fence stuff with you. Have kids and get old and the whole nine yards. I loved you from the moment you called me a ‘misogynistic ass.’”

Laurel gives a watery laugh, and he stops to think for a moment, pursing his lips.

“I know I’m probably not the kinda guy you pictured yourself marrying. Hell, I never thought I’d _ever_  get married. But all I know is that if I got you, I don’t need anything else. I’m not scared of commitment.” He pauses, and lowers his voice. “Not when it’s with you.”

She’s full-on crying now, her cheeks soaked with tears and her hands still clamped over her mouth. She doesn’t look like she’s about to say no, but he’s still really damn scared she will, and so he raises the box a bit, giving her a wry little smile.

“So what do you say, huh?” Frank asks with a wink. “You gonna let me wife you or not?”

Laurel doesn’t answer. Instead, she just takes a moment to compose herself and walks over to where he kneels, holding out her hand for him. And the moment she does, he breaks into a full-toothed smile, reaching up and sliding the ring on her finger – which it fits perfectly. She lets out a happy sob as soon as he does, and he springs to his feet when she all but jumps into his arms, burying her head into his shoulder and laughing and crying all at once.  

“That a yes?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,  _yes_!”

She buries her face back into his shoulder, her shoulders still quaking violently with sobs. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that – until a sudden, hard smack on his chest from Laurel’s fist brings him crashing back down to reality.

“You’re an  _asshole_!” she half-laughs, half-sobs. “You’re such an asshole; I can’t believe you! Y-you made me think you were never gonna marry me!”

“Ouch,” he winces. “Go easy on me. I had to surprise you somehow.”

“So you decided to do it by starting a fight with me?” she scoffs. She lands another hit, before giving in and throwing her arms around him again. “I hate you. I hate you so much!”

“Yeah, well,” he kisses the top of her head. “I love you too.”

She laughs and takes a deep breath, calming down somewhat and holding out her hand to admire the ring.

“Mmm,” she hums contently after a minute. “Laurel Delfino.”

He tugs her closer. “Holy _hell_  does that sound good.”

“Well, not as good as Frank Castillo,” she tells him, feigning seriousness. “Or better yet, just… Mr. Laurel Castillo.”

“All right, all right, now you’re pushin’ it.”

“I know,” she laughs, as she leans in to peck him on the lips. “I was just trying to see if you were whipped enough to go for it.”

He is, in all honesty; he’d do anything for her, and he knows that as sure as he knows he’s breathing. And now she’s said yes, and she’s his and he’s hers – forever. For good. Before, nothing would have made him more miserable. Now? Now… he can’t picture himself wanting anything else.  

She’d said yes.  _Yes, yes, yes_. The word echoes over and over in his head as he pulls her close and wraps his arms around her, burying his face into her hair.

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful word in his life than  _yes_.  


End file.
